by Regina Scott
“We’ll work together,” Maddie told him. “We can hang the things to dry in the sun. The more we can get done the better.”
“We’ll help too,” Aiden declared, coming out of the stairwell. Ciara followed more slowly. Like Michael, she wore a look of resolution, brows gathered, lips tight.
“No thief’s going to get the best of our family,” she said with a stomp of her foot.
Maddie’s heart gave its own little leap. “You’re right. I’ll not let this setback get the better of me.” She plucked two coins from her hard-won pile and held them out to Ciara. “The Kellogg store closes early on Sunday. Hurry back and buy us the makings for dinner. I’ll purchase the rest tomorrow. I’ll not be able to have bread for the morning rush, but we’ll make do with the laundry money. Go with her to help carry, Aiden.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Aiden said, so eagerly she could only hope he wouldn’t return with nothing but candy for dinner.
As the children left, Maddie turned to Michael to find him watching her. She offered him a smile with a determination she hoped matched his.
“Set the water to boiling, Mr. Haggerty,” she said. “I’ll change my clothes and join you shortly.”
* * *
By the time Maddie returned downstairs, Michael had the tubs out in the rear yard and was pouring a kettle of steaming water into the first. Maddie’s gaze was drawn to the double line of rope stretching across in front of the oven. “What have you done with my drying line?” she called out to him.
He straightened to grin at her. “Your oven can put out a lot of heat. I figured why not use it to help dry the clothes faster. You won’t need the space for baking today.”
Maddie grinned back. “Why, Mr. Haggerty, you’re a right smart fellow, you are. Let me sort the first batch of clothes, and I’ll bring it out to you.”
She closed the door to keep Amelia Batterby from escaping and bent over the sacks still piled on the kitchen floor. In his haste to retrieve things yesterday, Michael had tumbled a few items together. Tsking, she retrieved some shirts.
Odd. They weren’t from her usual customers. She felt as if each shirt was an old friend these days, from Mr. Hennessey’s broad plaid to Mr. Porter’s battered blue flannel. Had Michael added some of his own clothes to the washing? She wouldn’t have blamed him for getting some of his work done in the process of doing hers. She knew how hard it had been to wash aboard ship.
The last piece of clothing on the floor was a pair of trousers, wadded into a ball. Maddie shook them out and draped them over the remaining sacks. Then she froze, staring.
Running down the side of the dark blue pants was a red stripe, sewn into the seam. She straightened, swallowing. Michael had claimed he had no use for gangs like the Dead Rabbits, talked about them with disdain.
Why then was he hiding the one thing that marked members of the dreaded gang—blue trousers with a red stripe?
The door banged open, and she nearly jumped. Michael set the kettle on the sideboard. “Ready?”
Maddie nodded, shoving the trousers into the nearest sack. “Take these shirts now. I’ll be right behind you.”
And determined to get answers from him.
* * *
The laundry didn’t seem so tiresome today to Michael. Perhaps he was getting used to the rhythm of it: wash, rinse, wring and hang. But he thought the ease had more to do with the company.
Maddie worked beside him at her usual brisk pace. She’d changed into a green gingham gown that fluttered about her frame in the breeze. The sunlight set her hair aglow.
Sleeves rolled up, he handled the first tub, Maddie the rinse. Over her shoulder, he caught sight of Amelia Batterby peering out the kitchen window before disappearing to more interesting pursuits.
“You said Sylvie had the raising of you,” Maddie said as he lifted the first batch and dumped it into her tub with a splash. “I don’t recall seeing you at her flat.”
“I moved to Irishtown to be closer to the Brooklyn docks,” he explained as he straightened. Together they peered down into the water of his tub, heads so close together he could smell the cinnamon that clung to her. Maddie made a face at the filthy water. With a chuckle, Michael bent to heave up the tub and take it to the garden patch to dump. He caught sight of her watching him before she turned away with a blush.
He knew he shouldn’t be pleased by her reaction to his strength. He’d been born with a sturdy body, and his work on the docks had only honed it like a knife to iron. Still, it was nice to be admired for a change instead of derided for cowardice for failing to support the gang.
As if she knew he’d seen her staring, she hurried to the bakery for the kettle and returned a short time later with the hot water to pour into the tub. But her next statement proved she hadn’t forgotten their conversation.
“So you labored on the docks in Brooklyn,” she mused as they worked to the sound of clucking hens. “That’s a far piece away from family.”
He dumped some cool water in with the hot and swirled the mixture with a paddle. “Not so far away,” he said, bending to retrieve the next set of clothes. “It’s only a ferry ride to Manhattan. You might say it’s far enough away from Five Points to be civilized.”
Maddie finished rinsing her clothes and began putting them through the tall metal wringer, cranking on the handle as water streamed back into the tub on one side and damp clothes trickled out on the other. “Sure-n I can’t be arguing with you on that,” she told Michael. “There was nothing civilized about Five Points.”
He’d be ahead of her soon. Best to help with the wringing. He left the paddle in the tub and took one of the flannels from the rinse. “I can only hope they raze that place someday, once Sylvie has found somewhere else to live.” He twisted at the material, sending water cascading down into the rinse and wishing he could wash away his past as easily.
“Thankful I was that she agreed to take in Ciara and Aiden,” Maddie said. “I couldn’t have come west otherwise.”
He knew that, and he knew what he’d originally thought of the matter—that she’d abandoned her family for greener pastures. He tossed the shirt over the line beside them, then turned to eye her. “I owe you an apology.”
Maddie glanced up at him, brows raised. “Whatever for?”
He ducked down to retrieve another shirt and wring it, taking the time to choose his words carefully. “When Sylvie told me where you went, who you went with, I thought you’d left Ciara and Aiden behind with your worries.”
Maddie’s gaze returned to the iron wringer in front of her as if to avoid meeting his gaze as he straightened. “I’ll not deny there were moments I thought about doing just that,” she confessed. “I was struggling on my own before Da and their mum died. How could I care for two more? But they’re family, my own flesh and blood. I could no more abandon them as stop breathing.”
Something inside him unfurled like a shirt freed from the wringer. “I’m glad. For your sake and theirs.”
She took the shirt she’d wrung out and slipped it over the line. It was still damp enough that the movement sent a shower flying. Michael wiped a drop from his cheek.
“Sorry,” Maddie said, gaze on his face. She lifted a hand as if she wanted to touch his skin. Would her caress be as soft as her look?
Disappointment bit as she grabbed the next shirt instead and shoved it into the wringer.
“But what of you?” she asked, cranking the handle for all she was worth. “No brother, no sister? Was Sylvie all your family?”
“All I needed,” he replied, finishing with that shirt and hanging it out to dry. “But there’s something else you should know about me, Maddie. I was offered a chance to help the Dead Rabbits and I refused. That’s why Katie O’Doul broke off the engagement. That’s why I used your ticket to come here. It was either escape New York or stay, fa
ce their wrath and see Sylvie and her children harmed.”
He heard the bitterness creeping back into his voice, felt it in a hard kernel inside him. She had to hear it too.
“’Tis a sad tale,” she murmured, smoothing the wrinkles from the shirt in front of her. “But if what you say is true, why did I find the Dead Rabbits’ striped trousers in your wash?”
Michael felt as if she’d slapped him. His hands froze halfway to the paddle. “Not my wash.”
She darted around him to retrieve the sack she’d brought from the kitchen and reached inside.
“These,” she said, straightening to hold a pair of trousers out to him.
He ducked under the line and came to stand in front of her, staring down at the red stripe. He knew the meaning. The sight of them made his stomach knot.
“Those aren’t mine,” he promised her, gaze meeting hers. He could see the doubt in those deep brown eyes.
“Whose, then?” she demanded.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But someone connected to the Dead Rabbits is here, and he isn’t afraid to show it.”
Maddie wadded up the pants, eyes tightening with obvious worry. “Could they have followed you here, intent on revenge?”
“I’m not that important,” he assured her. He put a hand to her elbow. “I haven’t brought trouble to your door, Maddie, I promise. There has to be another explanation for why those trousers showed up in the wash.”
“And I’ll be glad to hear it,” she said, bending to stuff the offending article back in the sack.
Michael reached down to take the burlap from her. “Who owns this?”
She examined the sack. “Mr. Hennessy. But those trousers can’t be his. Sure-n he’s a mountain of a man. His neck must be as big as my waist!”
“Then someone must have slipped them into his laundry,” Michael reasoned.
She shrugged. “I only found them near his sack, but it’s possible. He lives in that boardinghouse, and the manager allows the boarders to leave their sacks in the parlor for me to collect.”
“Someone might have put the trousers into the sack unnoticed,” Michael mused. “How many men live in that boardinghouse?”
“Perhaps a dozen,” she answered, “including Mr. Hennessy and Mr. Weinclef.”
Weinclef didn’t seem likely, worse luck. Michael wasn’t sure why he felt the need to show up the scrawny clerk. But Maddie’s would-be suitor couldn’t be a member of the Dead Rabbits. He wasn’t Irish, which was the main requirement for joining the gang.
Maddie lay her fingers on his arm, her touch comforting.
“Maybe a red stripe is the uniform of some sailing ship or a foreign army,” she said, though the frown on her face betrayed her doubts. “All nations are flocking to the West.”
He nodded, though he could not make himself believe the answer was so simple. “You’re probably right. But just to be sure, I’ll deliver the clean laundry this time.”
She withdrew her hand. “But...” She bit her lower lip as if trying to halt the rest of her words.
Michael cocked his head. “But?”
She was turning pink. “Well, I have to collect my pay.”
Why was that cause for concern? “I’ll collect it,” Michael said, watching her. “Unless you think I’d cheat you.”
“No! Never!” Her blush was deepening, and she turned for the tubs as if to prevent him from seeing it.
Michael followed her. “Then what’s the trouble, Maddie?”
“It’s just that sometimes they give me a little extra,” she said, grabbing his paddle and shoving it under the sodden clothes. “For a smile or a kind word. I’m not thinking they’ll treat you the same way.”
So she wasn’t above flirting for profit. He wasn’t sure why that thought disappointed him. Even Sylvie wasn’t above batting her eyes at the grocer if it meant an extra potato for the soup.
“They won’t,” he said, taking the paddle from her and using it to heave up the clothes and slide them into the second tub. “Just like they won’t buy bread from me like they buy it from you.”
She stiffened. “I bake a good bread, Michael Haggerty. It’s not my smile that makes it so tasty.”
“But it is your smile that helps sell it,” he replied, stirring the clothes in the rinse water.
The breath she puffed out was thick with vexation. “I’ll not be arguing with you over the point. Right now, we need every penny we can scrape together. So, I’ll be delivering the laundry, and smiling, and asking any questions that need to be answered.”
He couldn’t like it. If there was a gang member in town bent on trouble, he didn’t want Maddie anywhere near the fellow. For all Michael knew, the Dead Rabbits could be behind the theft of her supplies, though why they’d care whether Maddie baked was beyond him. Unless they thought her pain was his. They wouldn’t be wrong.
“We’ll deliver the laundry together,” he compromised, giving the second batch a final swirl in the clean water. “You can smile and collect your money, and I’ll ask the questions.”
She narrowed her eyes but stopped short of arguing.
They finished the second batch and hung it up to dry, removing the pieces that had already dried with the heat of the oven. Maddie set about ironing the shirts on the worktable. She kept glancing at Michael as if more questions pressed against her lips as surely as her flat iron pressed the wrinkles from the shirts. He forced himself to focus on their task.
Someone rapped on the rear door as they began folding the clothes for delivery. Maddie wiped the steam from her brow and went to answer as Michael straightened from the worktable.
In the yard, the Kellogg brother who had interviewed Michael at the store tipped his tall hat to Maddie.
“Good afternoon, Miss O’Rourke,” he said with a smile that lifted his bushy blond mustache. “I believe you know these charming children.”
Ciara and Aiden darted around him for the kitchen. Ciara was smiling, her brown eyes twinkling like Maddie’s, and Aiden grinned from ear to ear. Michael couldn’t help smiling with them.
Maddie looked less certain of the situation. “And what have you two been up to?” she asked, arms akimbo.
Kellogg put a hand on each of their shoulders, his black coat and trousers dark behind their clothes. “They were telling me all about your troubles,” he confided with a fond look to the children. His blue gaze rose to Maddie’s face. “We can’t have Seattle’s finest bakery in jeopardy of closing.”
Was he smitten with Maddie like every other man in Seattle and thus willing to donate to the cause? Or was he planning on extending credit that would ultimately put Maddie in debt so deep she’d be forced to concede her dreams?
Michael edged closer as Mr. Kellogg stepped aside and nodded toward the yard. Mr. Weinclef waited just beyond, bearing a cone of sugar wrapped in blue paper in his slender arms. Over the fence, he could see the head and shoulders of another man, who must be sitting on the bench of a wagon in the alley.
“What’s all this?” Maddie asked with a look to her siblings. “I sent you for dinner.”
“And they returned with enough for breakfast too,” Mr. Kellogg said with a laugh. “Seattle’s breakfast, that is. Miss O’Rourke, the Kellogg mercantile is pleased to extend you credit. You may pay it off within the quarter at twenty-five percent interest per month. All you have to do is say yes.”
Chapter Twelve
Credit? That would meet Maddie’s needs in the short-term, but oh, how it could sap her future. Yet Mr. Kellogg stood there smiling at her as if he wanted to grant her every wish. Ciara and Aiden gazed up at her almost as eagerly.
Only Michael beside her wore a frown. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but even if he had urged her to accept the offer, she would have refused. She wasn’t about to cha
nge her mind to please him. She struggled to change her mind even when she thought it might be God’s will for her.
But she thought she knew His will in this instance.
“It’s very kind of you,” she told Mr. Kellogg, including the two men beyond him in her smile. “But I can’t accept.”
She thought Michael drew in a breath. Mr. Weinclef sagged.
Aiden’s face fell. “But Maddie,” he protested. “It’s free!”
“It’s not free, me darling boy,” Maddie explained. “Mr. Kellogg is allowing me the use of it until I can pay him back with interest. But if I use my profits to pay his interest, I’ll have nothing to buy food for you next week.”
“Then I’ll merely extend you further credit,” Mr. Kellogg assured her, smile never wavering.
She’d seen too many people go down that road to their sorrow. Her father and stepmother had owed the grocer nearly one hundred dollars when they’d died. It had taken her months to pay off the debt.
“I appreciate the offer,” she said to the shop owner, “but I must refuse. I’ve enough to buy one cone of sugar. That’s all we’ll be taking. Excuse me while I fetch the money.” She turned and went for her savings, which she’d left in the front of the shop.
Ciara followed her. “Why did you say no? We could have had lamb for dinner! Eggs for breakfast!”
“And been forced to sell our own chickens to pay for the privilege a month from now,” Maddie countered. She took out her savings can and opened the lid.
Ciara stood on tiptoe to peer inside. Then she gasped. “You have lots of money!” she accused Maddie. “You just didn’t want to spend it on us!”
Anger forced a response. “This money is for sending you and Aiden to school,” Maddie told her. “And for paying back Mr. Howard for building this bakery for us, all the pots and pans, the supplies, even the bed you’re sleeping on. I’ll not be cheating him or go further into debt because you want more than you need.”
“You want more!” Ciara cried. “You want a fancy house. You said so.”